The King of Hell
by Having-Dinner-With-The-Dead
Summary: 'And everything became simple and clean around the time, it was Dean that was ruling the dark depths of the world's scum, Sam punished and tortured in the pit along with his poor soul, Crowley left to become a rat in his own kingdom, but it all leaves one awfully sticky question. What about Castiel' Demon!Dean Dean/Castiel (one-sided) Rated T for gruesome themes.


**A/N: **Hello, thank you for reading this, I'm Mew and I've decided to make a short comeback to FanFiction with this fic. To subtly explain this, as I am unsure exactly what this is about, consider this as an AU, a demon!dean thing. Since I haven't seen Season 9 yet, I'm unsure on everything regarding the demonic Dean we're experiencing today, but just considering this a run-of-the-mill demonic Dean fiction. Any mistakes regarding Hell or demonic diets are my own and this has not been beta'd so any grammar/spelling/other mistakes are also my own. If the ending is scrappy, just keep in mind this wasn't supposed to branch in that far. Reviews are nice if you're into that.

* * *

><p>Dean Winchester sits on the throne, the throne of all things evil and impure, his hands are soaked in a deep red whilst his fingernails consist of human skin and other unearthly things, his hair is neat and flattened against his skull, his face is peeling with the brutality of his actions, blood wells up in his face, under his eyes, on his neck, forearms and shin split with knives and other means of weaponry. Dean is now the King of Hell, kicking Crowley from his place and sent him to be a house rat, tainting the world under Hell's floorboards, he doesn't like it at all, but he finds it cannot not be argued upon, considering the strength and violent predicaments the old Winchester has faced and more or less destroyed.<p>

The old leader sometimes flinches at Sam's soul in the pit, being sent there after Dean ended his hunter life with the slightest of hand movements, smiling and laughing as the younger boy tried his best to call for the denim-wrapped nightmare, furious screams escaped his bloodied teeth, 'Dean, fight this! I know you're still in there!' but nothing popped out of Mr. Winchester's lips, only an innocent head tilt before a lifeless body fell to the ground, the cold ground consisting of Sammy's own blood.

And everything became simple and clean around the time, it was Dean that was ruling the dark depths of the world's scum, Sam punished and tortured in the pit along with his poor soul, Crowley left to become a rat in his own kingdom, but it all leaves one awfully sticky question. What about Castiel? The fallen angel to the hunters, the clueless companion with the messy hair and trench coat, the one who saved their lives countless times, the one who was not only a friend, but a brother.

The very few who ever had an encounter with the most deceiving Dean Winchester knew where the old angel was, for the blood that covered his hands was not just his own pair of hands. Witnesses would say a man with messy raven hair and piercing blue eyes would stand next to the King of Hell, wearing a bloodied trench coat, the smooth beige colour which toned the coat was barely recognizable against the thick layering of red, the unmistakable tang of blood followed his face as did Dean Winchester's own.

When the rumours spread, the heavens said, 'Oh no!' hell said, 'Really?' whilst the few who _really _knew Castiel murmured, 'He is with Dean, the man he loves.' And it was true.

Castiel had fit in well with Hell's torturing and homicidal tendencies, but throughout his extended stay, thoughts burnt through his mind and plagued it with things he wished not to think about, like betrayal to every promise he had made, to everything he screamed inside to himself not to do.

He was with Dean for a few reasons, mainly he would just say 'I'm tired of being on the good side', if you looked past all the stoned up feelings and emotions, pad-locked with the key swallowed, that he couldn't risk betraying Dean again. Even if he were a demon. He was still Dean. His Dean. And nothing could really stop him, not even Heaven, nor Hell, or Purgatory. Because in the end, he always came back. Even if it meant Castiel was coming back to a demonic Dean.

When it had happened, Dean was looming over Castiel, a smirk plastered onto his freckled face, eyes burnt to a pitch black, hair neatly swept along his skull, an angel blade in hand. His free hand was roughly gripping the angel's hair, it wasn't at all tight but Dean knew the poor thing wouldn't worm his way out of his clutch, for he was too fixed on the demon before him.

'Oh, angel, you tried so hard to save me. So hard, I mean, falling in every way imaginable for some guy who barely appreciated you? Sounds like some bad high school drama. But you always were the dramatic one, weren't you Castiel?' The man teased, kneeling down to Castiel's height, who had fell onto hard pavement after an attack from Dean. Blood trickled from his forehead, welling up along his cheeks and more of the liquid oozed from his mouth, bloodying his teeth and lips. His skin was gritty with dirt, mud and a lot more, he looked as impure as the demon before him.

'Hm, no,' Dean drawled, pouting animatedly, inspecting his head, as if looking inside his skull for something, 'you weren't at all dramatic or emotional, other than that time you became God, ate all those Leviathan and became their taxi driver, went to blow up that town with good ol' Uriel, went to kill poor Anna, oh, and tried to kill me of course! But that was just Naomi right, Cas?' He smiled sweetly, nodding as if to allow confirmation, but inside he knew he wouldn't get it, but the grip on the angel's short hair tightened, not letting the man out of his grasp, because somehow, his questions would strike a yellow-brick road and he would need to follow it to the Emerald City of Castiel.

Castiel began to squirm slightly, gasping and panting as he moved his aching bones, Dean smiled. Poor thing becomes a human and can't even stand the pain that comes with it.

'Only my f-family gets to call me Cas,' He muttered through bloodied teeth.

Dean smirked, 'Really?' He jerked the fallen angel's head back, jaw tightening, 'Because last time I checked we were family. You know, good old Castiel Winchester, left the football team to come join the losers?' He adjusted Castiel's head to look into his eyes, or as the fallen angel would put it, his soul. As if trying to comprehend how torn and blistered and broken his little miracle ball was, how his human soul would be looking right about now.

And in the end, he did feel it. He felt torn, blistered and broken. He was completely done with Heaven, Hell, Humans and even damn Purgatory, he wasn't on any side. For the reason that they couldn't save Dean. But he should have blamed himself. He was Dean Winchester's guardian angel. Castiel allowed himself to be a guardian angel to the Righteous Man. But could not guard anymore.

'Then,' Castiel panted raggedly, a chest would be huffing and puffing now but he could not move in Dean's hold, 'let me be on y-your team.' He smiled softly, staring up to see shock in olive-green eyes, but features only let on pleasure and a soft purr.

'How about this, fallen angel, don't try anything stupid and you can be my little puppy dog and I'll let you sit by my feet and chew on bones. Okay?' Dean compromised roughly, loosening the grip on him slightly, knowing that Castiel was defenceless, but the idea could be possibly true, if the human inside of him still had any reason to trust the angel bleeding before him.

Castiel nodded grimly, not feeling any remorse for Heaven nor the humans of his father's creation, 'Call me Cas.'

And it was that moment that stretched into millennia. A million years graced the legend of Bonnie and Clyde, more or less Bonnie and Cas in their case, sitting as royals in a kingdom they stole. Sitting at opposite ends of a dining table that intends to be a little more gruesome than the normal, as they feast on delicacies.

'Fried intestines with a pinch of pepper, Dean?' Castiel teased, a fork rosed to show his friend, where a long, burnt cord hangs from it, and he chuckles to himself.

Dean flashes pitch black orbs, scrunching his nose up, 'No, sorry, I'm on a demon-only diet.'

'That's a pity, I ordered in French delicacies.' The angel frowned, slipping the intestine back into a silver dish, before playing around with his cuffs on his shirts. He rolled them up neatly, his face placid and still, eyes staring down at his dinner plate, filled with items that would disgust his past self, and Dean's past self. He knows what he is doing is terribly wrong, the pain fills his chest and he tries to disguise his quickened breathing from Dean, and all he is doing is rolling an eyeball with his cutlery and is hoping the demon on the other end of the extensive dining table isn't noticing.

But he knows the man is observing his upset emotion, and just blatantly asks him.

'What's wrong?' Dean murmured, trying to comfort Castiel, 'You know, save me a bit of the French delicacy, like a female's leg or something.'

'Of course, of course.' The angel smiled weakly, nodding a little more than he should, before he gulps down his guilt. And an eyeball.

That wasn't how many family dinners went, if they ever had any in the first place, but normally they'd just sit in their little etched corner of Hell, talking and fiddling around with things, sometimes Dean would take Castiel out somewhere, steal some candy from a child, set some people on fire, do whatever he wanted really. Dean Winchester was a free man and wanted to take his new pair of wheels out for a spin.

Another time would just be getting awfully irritated by some lower level demons.

'Okay, okay, so we've got Demi out in Africa torturing some Pagan gods, you know, gaining what she can.' A secretary-like man is standing in Dean's throne room, with Castiel by his side, arm wrapped around his neck calmly, their breathing in tune as much at their hips after a long day at work. At that moment, Dean was drawing circles in Cas' hair whilst the fallen angel listened with a bored aura to the secretary.

The secretary's nerves were starting to flame up when he watched the king dote on the angel, it made him pissed that the King of the Damned was snuggling so close to something that was pure and that used to murder his brethren. He just seemed to forget that so did Dean.

'King, do you dare interfere with the running with the natural order? That we are ordered to kill any angel on sight, and here you are cuddling with one?' He growled roughly, eyes narrowing, clipboard held closely to his chest, pencil held between two fingers.

Dean was quick to react, anger seething and brewing inside him, ready to explode, but Castiel was much quicker. He was already leaping off the King's lap, angel blade fell out of his sleeve and clutched into his hand and the signature head tilt came to be, and in the rush of things, the secretary could only tremble when the angel's shadow engulfed him, the fires and flames submerging Hell now put out by an all too well-placed angel in a trench coat.

'Are you saying that not even an angel is allowed to be in your disgusting ranks? That you are the mighty and we are the small and cowardly? Could I remind you of your creator? My _brother_?' Castiel snarled fiercely, pushing into the secretary's personal space, but the demon had no senses, he found he could not move, he couldn't have even edged his smaller, frailer body away from the taller man.

But if he had known, had known that the thought running through the fallen angel's mind were not _How dare he? _It in fact was, _Who have I become? Gone from loving humans to… Eating them? Laughing at their species when they grieve for their family, kill their own for pleasure, destroying the gods they worship to 'eliminate competition'? Who am I? For I am not Castiel anymore. _Because if the secretary would have heard those thoughts, even under Cas' stony glare, he would've laughed until the sun came up. And in hell, that never happens.

'Oh, Cas, I love it when you get all rough like that. Makes me all tingly.' Dean Winchester giggled, smirking teasingly at his lover, relaxing into his large throne with a grin. The angel only rolled his eyes, not daring to look at the King, only keeping his frightening glare fixed on his insulter, his angel blade raising to the poor thing's neck, the flames of the pit flickered on and off the weapon, and the sheer possibility death rolled through the secretary's mind a million- even a billion times, and each time wanted him to shiver and tremble, but he could not for the threatening reminder that a single muscle moving could end in his demise. And he was hoping not to die.

Dean furrowed his brow, crunching his face up. 'No, don't, Cas. It's 6th guy this week and the whole job application entry reading is getting kinda annoying.' The fallen angel took a swift second to glare at the demon, possibly with a look saying, '_But he is terribly annoying and rude and if I don't take him out then no one will.' _And the King only replied with a shrug and beckoned the angel back to his throne, which made the secretary scramble out of the room when Castiel agreed.

A few years after that, Hell was put on red alert.

Dean Winchester lays on the throne, the throne of all things evil and impure, blood welling up in his neck. Sam Winchester's soul is stolen from the Pit, Crowley is put back in charge, no longer hiding in Hell's floorboards as the house rat. And Castiel, the clueless companion to the hunter is nowhere to be found. And no one really seems to care.

Nobody really liked Dean Winchester as king anyway.


End file.
